Fire in the Sky

2

The main part of Dumel Alsekum was laid out as an infinity sign with the Meeting House at the twist point. In one node the horses were low and rounded with an organic look as if they were grown rather than built and roofs that glittered in the sunlight, panels of translucent material that could be slid aside to let in the full force of the sun. In the other the style of building was more angular, walls built with a mellow ocher brick and wood with the gleam of pale bronze; the roofs were rough shakes with a crannied thready texture as if they were cut from bark rather than the wood itself. Moss grew in patches across these roofs, the dark rich green starred with small yellow blooms. Ketengs lived in the first node, Fior in the second. Despite this separation in the living quarters, Shadith saw children of both species playing together, the adults working together in the fields, standing together in the streets. She was pleased to see this, but couldn’t help wondering where the catch was; the history of Cousin interactions with intelligent non-Cousins was on the whole bloody and depressing.

The Yarak driver stopped at the edge of the village. No, Shadith thought, Dumel. That was what the Bйluchar called a village. Dumel was the settlement, ordumel the manufactories and farms attached to it. She touched her fingers lightly to her temple; the translator had settled down, the blinding ache was gone, all she had now was a twinge or two when she ran into a spate of slang like the shouts of those children outside.

The driver twisted around to speak to Aslan.

“Scholar, if you want me to take you to the Hostel, I’ll have to go round outside this place. The streets are too narrow for the track.”

“Wait here a moment. We’re supposed to be met by local officials. Once we’re out, you make your way round and wait. There’s maneuvering to do before that’s settled. I hope you brought something to pass the time since we probably won’t get in till sundown, if then.”

He flashed his pointed teeth at her in a broad, dangerous grin, his orange-brown eyes shutting to furry slits. His mask was a sketch of mahogany fur only a few shades darker than the rest of a pelt that was shaggier than the neat plush on Goлs Koraka and the other highborn and there was no white on his face. “How it goes,” he said. “Rush till you’re rubbed down to hide, then sit around and listen to your fur grow while the big chods talk.”

Aslan chuckled, clicked her tongue. “Hush now. Two of those chods are coming toward us.” She pushed her chair around so she was facing the others. “Dune, Shadow and I will see if we can light a fire under them and clear the way for you to start getting settled in.”

Duncan Shears was a small wiry man with droopy eyelids that lent a mild and sleepy look to his round face, a man given to hoarding words. Now he simply nodded, settled down in his seat, and turned slightly so he could look through the offside window of the track’s cabin and watch the maneuvering of the locals as they moved in staring circles about the tracktruck.

Shadith swung down and followed Aslan to meet the Bйluchar, a Denchok and a Fior walking side by side, looking curiously alike though they were from different species.

Denchok. In Bйlucharis it meant settled and caretaker and middle term, the three meanings blended in a way she didn’t know enough yet to understand. Meloach were the children. That term was easier, it meant beginning and herd and opening bud. Eolt seemed to have only one meaning, being the generic name given to the intelligent floaters.

This Denchok had broad plump shoulders and grey-green skin like the bark of a willow tree. Unlike the Meloach, xe had no symbiote moss, rather a weaving of thready lichen that spread about the middle of xe’s stocky sexless body and looked like brittle gray-green spiderwebs. Watching xe move brought to mind the march of a dead tree trunk weathered and old. Xe wore no clothing, merely a bronze chain about xe’s short thick neck, a medallion dangling from the lowest link with worn symbols engraved on its oval.

The Fior was a plumpish man with a neatly trimmed white beard and mustache that framed thick red lips. He wore tight trousers and a tunic of deeply textured cloth that was a stylized echo of the Denchok’s lichen web. He, too, had a bronze chain and medallion.

The Denchok stopped a few steps from Aslan. Fingering xe’s medal with broad stumpy fingers, xe said, “I am the Metau Chachil. I speak for the Denchok.”

(Shadith murmured a translation into Aslan’s ear, added, “Local pol. Context fringes-xe’s elected to the post, not born into it.”)

“And I am the Teseach Ruaim. I speak for the Fior.” The Teseach’s voice was a silver tenor that might have been crafted to charm birds from the sky.

(“Different word, same connotation,” she whispered.)

Turn and turn about, dancing their voices through the phrases, of the welcome speech with a practiced ease, the Teseach and the Metau welcomed their visitors to Dumel Alsekum.

When they finished, Aslan said, “May our interaction be pleasant and fruitful.” She paused for Shadith to translate, then went on briskly, “If my associates could be guided to the living quarters that were promised us, I would be most grateful.”

The Teseach snapped thumb against forefinger, dropped the hand on the shoulder of the youth who ran over to him. “Diroch will show you how to go. That contraption can’t come inside the Dumel, it’ll have to go round.”

(“Nose out of joint,” Shadith murmured. “No one’s moving into his town till he and the Metau approve. You’re going to have to keep this pair sweet or they’ll make trouble every chance they see.”)

Aslan bowed as she’d been instructed, arms crossed, the tips of her fingers resting against her shoulders. “Teach your grandmother,” she said, tucking the corners of her mouth in to keep from grinning. “Tell our friends there how profoundly appreciative we are and how we shall strive to be worthy of the honor and keep your face straight while you’re doing it, hm?”

The Meeting Room wasn’t a room at all, but a pentagonal court at the heart of the building with grasping rods extending from the roof on the five sides, leaving the center completely open to the sky. Three Eolt floated above the court, their tentacles anchoring them to the rods; below them a collection of Fior adults and Denchok sat in witness on benches pushed against four of the sides. Near a low dais that ran across the fifth side, the Dumel scribe perched at a small desk with a tablet, stylus and inkpad. Xe was a Denchok who seemed older than the rest, xe’s crust coarser, grayer, xe’s lichen web a thick matting of closely interwoven, crinkled threads.

The Metau and the Teseach climbed onto the dais, stood waiting beside massive chairs carved over every inch of their surface, chairs that looked extraordinarily uncomfortable. Shadith and Aslan were left standing at the foot of the steps.

A lanky Fior with a shock of gray hair brought out folding backless chairs whose seats were pieces of heavy cloth stretched between wooden dowels. He clicked the chairs open, snapped home the cross struts, slapped at the cloth to make sure they were secure, then went to take his place on one of the benches.

Metau Chachil and Teseach Ruaim bowed to each other then seated themselves in the chairs. Ruaim closed his hands over worn finials and leaned forward. “Sit if you please,” he said, his voice making a song of the words.

They sat. Shadith positioned the harpcase beside her knee, wondering if she should open it, decided not yet and straightened. From the corner of one eye she could see the Fior who’d served as the Goлs’ contact. Maorgan. His harpcase, like hers, was leaning against his knee. She wondered what his harp looked like. Would it be carved like those ugly chairs? What would that do to the sound?

There was whispering in the benches, creaks and. scuffs as heavy bodies shifted position. Brushing sounds and soft exhalations came from the lattices as the Eolt shifted their holds on the horizontal rods.

The Metau leaned forward and spoke (Shadith translating in a murmur just loud enough to reach Aslan’s ear), “We have listened to the Eolt and the Ard and have given you rooms in our Hostel, Scholar.”

(“Given is not exactly the word,” Aslan muttered to Shadith, “seeing the size of the rent they twisted from us.”)

Shadith smiled; she spoke to the Metau and the Teseach as if she were translating what Aslan had said, “For which we give thanks.”

“What we wish to know is why you want it. What is your purpose here? The traders who came before the mesuch descended on us say University is subject to no one’s will, but we know this, who pays for the song can name what they want to hear.”

Aslan nodded as she listened to Shadith’s recapitulation, then spoke slowly so the phrases could be translated into something like a coherent statement. “My purpose is knowledge, Metau, Teseach. My life-study is gathering the chronicles, songs and lifeways of different peoples, especially those on the verge of great change. All things change. A sage once said you cannot step twice in the same river. But the form of the river can be preserved and the memory of it even though it dries and dies. This is what I do. I document what might soon be erased by the press of time so that when the Wheel turns once more there will be a record of that heritage for those who wish to recapture something of what they were.”

Ruaim leaned forward again. “If we could rid ourselves of those mesuch over there, we wouldn’t need the record; things would go back to the way they were. Can you tell us how we can do that?”

“No. It is the short answer and a simple one, but it is the truth. The long answer is this: The word of your existence has spread too widely and will attract too many who want to wring profit from you and your world for you to be as you were. You could do worse-much worse-than the Yaraka. If you deal with them wisely, they will protect you from the…” Aslan said wolves and Shadith hesitated as she searched for an equivalent, then hurried to catch up. “The tukeol. And right now you need protection. What I can do is teach you about the Yaraka while I learn from you how your lives go. Knowledge brings power; ignorance, death.”

“You speak with eloquence, Scholar, but you don’t say much.”

“What can I say? What I know about you is what I see. I speak with the Harper’s tongue and listen with the Harper’s ears because I haven’t had time to learn your speech. I know even less of who you are and how you live. When one wishes to explain something, one needs to understand at least a little of what the listener knows and does not know, otherwise two people will only speak past each other and much misunderstanding will arise.”

“That is true. But we do not know this Harper. How does she know us?”

“It is her Gift to understand strange speech. I can’t explain, only be pleased to use it.”

“Why do the mesuch want you here?”

“The Chave are testing them, trying to drive them away. The Yaraka don’t have the time or resources to do what I’ll be doing for them, they’ll be too busy defending themselves and conducting their side-glance secret war. You do know about the Chave?”

“The mesuchs across the sea? We have heard. They are different?”

“Different worlds, different interests. Rivals. Enemies. You can use that, you know-if you learn how to play the Yaraka. You can’t get rid of them, but you can control to some extent the change they bring to your lives.”

The talk went on and on, the scribe stamping the wedge-shaped end of xe’s stylo in complicated patterns down row after row of the pages of the tablet. Shadith stopped thinking about what she was hearing, giving the words only the attention needed to translate them.

Aslan explained over and over what her purpose and intent was, what University was, the kind of things she was going to record, what would happen to the record, what was her exact relationship to the Yaraka, what did she know about the Chave, why did they act that way, who would be able to read what she recorded.

“Anyone?” The Metau’s heavy features drew together.

“Anyone who has the money to purchase a readout. As long as the data is not flagged for limited access, which this would probably not be.” Aslan thought a moment (Shadith moved her shoulders, grateful for the momentary pause; she considered asking for a glass of water, but her need wasn’t urgent and she didn’t want to break the flow). “The Yaraka might consider it proprietary information and therefore privileged, but our Meruu of Scholars have strong feelings about unrestricted access to information, as long as the seeker can pay for it. They would probably deny such a request.”

On and on.

The Alsekumers on the benches shifted position, whispered in hisses, went out, and others came in; Shadith could hear the faint rustles of their movements and envied them. She was getting stiff from sitting and her throat was beginning to burn.

A basso note of considerable power broke through a question; there was a sharp edge of impatience to the sound and a demand implicit in it. Shadith looked up.

An Eolt had moved out over the open center, holding position with a single tentacle. A long slit pursed open and snapped closed among the cilia in xe’s base and more sounds poured out of xe, a wordless music that was at the same time an announcement that the Eolt had something to say and was tired of waiting xe’s chance.

Ruaim and Chachil exchanged grimaces, then the Teseach sang, “Mer-Eolt Lebesair, be welcome to Alsekum Meet. Is there word you bring us from the Meruu of the Eolt?” He put frills on the words, made a fine production of the question.

(“What’s that about?” Aslan murmured.

“The Meruu is some kind of council, this Eolt is a rep from that council, here to look us over, I suppose.”

“Wish xe’d opened xe’s mouth earlier. Saved my ears and your throat. Have you picked up any idea what the relationship is between our floating friend up there and the walkers?”

“I’ve a few notions but they’re too vague to talk about right now. Ali! Xe’s warming up for a speech. I need to concentrate for this. When the floaters talk, it’s complicated.”)